


“here, drink this. you’ll feel better.”

by clickingkeyboards



Series: one hundred ways to say 'i love you' [18]
Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Aspergers, Autism, Autistic!George, Confusion, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 21:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21483184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards
Summary: George lives his life by strict routine. Alexander Arcady disrupts it when he arrives, again when he suddenly becomes so pretty that George can not help but stare, and once more when he becomes unbearably obsessed with Hazel Wong.Canon EraWritten for the eighteenth prompt in the '100 ways to say "I love you"' prompt list by p0ck3tf0x on Tumblr.
Relationships: Alexander Arcady/George Mukherjee
Series: one hundred ways to say 'i love you' [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1533164
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	“here, drink this. you’ll feel better.”

There’s something going on that I don’t quite like. 

You see, I am quite a particular person. I lie my life by strict routines, comfortably wound between the bells that parcel my life up into sections at Weston. They take me months to carefully calibrate and are so perfected down to the nano second that any interference can send me to near tears. I can only use two staircases in the school because they have the correct number of steps — I fall otherwise — and I must sit at the same desk in every lesson.

Perhaps that’s why I am never at my sharpest at the beginning of an investigation. While I can learn to wind and recalibrate my life around the inconvenient people that have the bad manners to die at a time that does not suit my routines, it takes me time.

One constant in my life since the middle of my first year has been Alexander Arcady. At first, I did not like him at all. I already had my entire routine figured out: I would wake up at 6:27, get called a nasty word by Inigo Bly on my way to breakfast at 7:01, Bob Featherstonehaugh would elbow me in the ribs while reaching for toast at 7:12, Ashby would come in brandishing a book at 7:26, I would bump by knee on the leg of my desk in first period at 9:02…

* * *

Then Alex messed it all up. His surname shunted me along one desk in every seating plan, his loud voice woke me up every morning and kept me up at night, his accent distracted me at breakfast, and his features captivated me in a way that offset everything an uncomfortable one centimetre, the entire world appearing far too bright and piercing for me to perceive comfortably.

I was staring at a boy.

He threw my life offset and I despised him for it.

That is, until he said, “That’s unkind!” the one morning Inigo Bly hissed his insult a little louder.

“Excuse me, cowboy?”

“I said, that’s unkind!” he repeated, much louder. “Mukherjee doesn’t choose to be Indian any more than you choose to be a prick!”

I decided that Alexander Arcady offsetting my life could be a good thing. 

* * *

We solve mysteries together: the Junior Pinkertons, I decided, and Alexloved it so much that he missed me on the cheek. We read _ Hardy Boys _together. We do homework side by side.

I rearranged my life and routines around the sparkling All-American star of our school, accounting precisely for how long each day I would spend with my eyes locked on him. That is, until I realised that I wanted to stare at him more than my allotted time slot for it day to day.

Once again, it was slightly disrupted.

Nothing I couldn’t handle.

Until I received a letter over the summer that threw my routines until an irreparable tangle of messed-up timings and new people and… and a word for what I felt for Alex.

_ Dear George, _

_ The Orient Express is wonderful! I’ve hardly had time to read, though! You see, there’s actually been a murder. It was the wife of the man who owns Daunt’s Diet Pills, which is a load of old nonsense. I’m not alone in detecting, though. There’s a pair of girl detectives who told me that they didn’t want to detect but are really more enthusiastic than I am. They’re called Hazel Wong (who knows shorthand and is a bit blushing and awkward but an excellent detective) and Daisy Wells (who is loud and boisterous and very pretty, if quite rude and bossy). There’s a rumour that someone on the train is a homosexual, too. I promise I’ll explain everything to you at Weston, I’ll give you my casebook right away. It involves spies again, and perhaps government secrets! _

_ Wish you were here! It’s awfully boring without you, and I’m late to everything without you to hurry me along. _

_ Lots of love, _

_ Alex _

* * *

I hate Hazel Wong.

She’s messed everything up.

All Alex talks about is Hazel, and the mystery at their school, the crush that Hazel might have.

Hazel.

Hazel.

Hazel.

It comes to a head one afternoon, when we’re hanging about our dorm room while the socs. are on. The other boys are orchestrating some convoluted prank in Cultural Society so Alex and I have taken advantage of this free time. Well, usually we would be.

“George,” he says. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I shrug.

With a scowl, he shoves his thermos flask into my hands. You see, our English teacher proffers him hot chocolate after lessons because he’s such a charming student.

“Here, drink this. You’ll feel better!” Alex never offers his hot chocolate to anybody.

Still, I ignore it. I cannot stand him being nice when I have now taken second place in terms of importance, falling behind bloody _ Hazel Wong _.

Then the lightbulb moment. “You’ve been ignoring me.”

“No,” I snap, a month of hurt bubbling into my throat and stinging my eyes. “You’ve been ignoring me!”

“Have I?”

My lips tremble, so I press them together in the hope of counteracting it. This only makes the tears well in my eyes faster. “Yes! All you talk about his Hazel Wong! I haven’t had a real conversation with you in weeks because of her. You’ve thrown off all my routines and everything has messed up _ again _ , just like when I met you. I keep settling into normality and then you go and disrupt it all again, whether that be simply existing or talking to Hazel or being so damn pretty that I can’t stop staring at you. Everything is _ wrong _ and off-centre now, I can’t concentrate on my work because everything is so very skewed. All because of you and damn Hazel Wong! You’re obviously in love with her, which hurts more than it damn well would because I’m in love with _ you _!”

The room freezes.

“George,” Alex says, absolutely exasperated. “What do you think I talk to Hazel about?”

“One can assume that you’re writing bloody love letters!” I yell. 

I have never seen Alex look so smug, confused, concerned, and knowing all at once. Perhaps that knowing smugness is how I am to him all the time.

“Love letters? George, I…”

For once, I cannot suss out what he is thinking. All I know is one thing: he didn’t acknowledge my confession.

Then he reaches out his hands, grabs my face, and yanks me in for a hard kiss.

My routines click into place again, piece my piece, because _ oh _ . _ Oh, _ this feels _ right _ . If _ this _ is a new routine, I am happy to make some space for it. I’m sure I can fit some more time for gazing at Alex around my homework and when I’m not doing lessons.

“I don’t write love letters to Hazel, you moron,” Alex mumbles against my lips. “I gush about you.”


End file.
